"So this is the great Qingyun Sect—one of the Eight Supreme Sects of the Murim world? Nothing but lapdogs licking the boots of the strong, turning their backs on justice?"
Ye Chen's voice echoed through the grand hall, sharp as a blade drawn under heaven's gaze. Thousands of eyes widened, and silence swept across the room like a winter storm.
"You too, Sect Master. A father willing to throw his own daughter into the fire... Is that what you call a good father?"
"And the Elders... You offer your daughters and granddaughters as concubines, just to cling to the coattails of power. Disgusting. Truly disgusting."
His voice trembled—not from fear, but from wrath. The fire in his eyes scorched the pride of everyone before him.
"A sect like this... I'd rather die than be named its disciple. Even if I must carry this shame for life, I will never bow to corruption."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Scornful eyes turned toward Ye Chen—just an outer disciple, after all. Without connections, without power. If not for sneaking his way into this gathering, would he ever be allowed to stand in front of these heavenly figures?
"He's a fool," someone sneered.
"Does he think he can talk back to the Sect Master?"
"Talentless, weak, and now courting death? He must truly be tired of living."
A young inner disciple rose from his seat. Though among the lowest of the inner circle, he was still a dragon compared to outer disciples—his face twisted in contempt, palm twitching with the desire to slap Ye Chen into the ground.
To him, this was blasphemy. A dog barking in front of gods. Especially today—on the day their honored guest had arrived, a figure whose mere displeasure could bring calamity not only to Qingyun, but the entire world.
"Have you all lost your minds?!" Ye Chen shouted. "You would offer the Holy Maiden of our sect as someone else's plaything?!"
He looked around, hoping—desperately—for someone to agree. But all he saw were eyes filled with mockery, like spectators at a circus watching the clown dance.
"'Someone else's'?" a voice murmured.
That single phrase triggered an eruption of laughter, so loud it shook the hall.
"You think you have a chance with the Holy Maiden, Ye Chen?" someone mocked.
"You think she belongs to *you*?"
"He's insane!"
Laughter boomed across the sect. Elders and disciples, from every corner of the hall and even outside in the central courtyard, ridiculed him with unrestrained scorn.
"Sect Master Luo," the Qingyun Sect Master said softly, voice gentle and reverent. "Forgive us. It seems one of our dogs has escaped his leash and made a fool of our name."
His tone—more like a child before a parent than a world-renowned martial emperor—contrasted sharply with the iron reputation he once held.
Luo Fan simply smiled and took another sip of tea. His gaze lingered on Ye Chen... then subtly shifted down to the ring on Ye Chen's right hand.
"Qianfan," the Sect Master said, turning to the radiant girl beside Luo Fan. "The Holy Maiden of our sect. The most talented woman in all the land. My greatest pride. Who else but Young Lord Luo could be worthy of her?"
Ji Qianfan stood like a painting come to life—snow-white skin, sky-blue eyes, flowing silver hair that glowed beneath the spiritual lights. Her beauty rivaled the Nine Immortal Fairies of legend, and her talent in cultivation had not been seen in ten thousand years.
Ye Chen's face grew grim. Veins bulged along his forehead, throbbing with fury. He turned his eyes to the one Elder he had trusted—the man who once helped him enter the sect.
"Ye Chen," the old man said coldly. "Kneel. If the Sect Master becomes displeased, the only thing awaiting you is death. This is the final advice I can give you as your Elder."
Even he... had turned away.
Ji Qianfan glanced down at Ye Chen, her voice tinged with irritation.
"You're an idiot."
"Ye Chen," Luo Fan added lazily, "what qualifications do you think you possess to—"
"Enough!" Ye Chen shouted, cutting him off. His face was flushed with rage. "You're just another tyrant who preys on the weak! If I had your power, would you dare speak to me like this?!"
Luo Fan's smile deepened. So the fool had fangs.
He stood slowly, brushing his sleeves. Then, with a single, casual flick of his hand—
*BOOM.*
The air cracked. Power surged like a divine hammer from the heavens. Ye Chen's body was flung dozens of meters, crashing hard against the stone floor. His spiritual root shattered. His dantian—the very core of cultivation—was destroyed.
Blood gushed from his mouth as he lay crumpled on the ground, his face pale and twitching.
The Sect Master's fist clenched. Sweat beaded in his palm.
Ji Qianfan's knees buckled. She leaned against the wall, drenched in cold sweat, her eyes trembling with fear. Around them, Elders and disciples fell to their knees, overwhelmed by dread.
That single motion—one flick—had shown a level of power they could not comprehend.
Not even Ye Chen had died... but if any one of them had taken that blow, the result would've been no different.
"Incarcerate him," the Elder of the Disciplinary Hall declared. "Seal him in the Ninth Layer Prison. Torture him until Young Lord Luo decides what to do."
Disciples rushed forward, dragging Ye Chen's broken body away.
"Fool."
"Suicidal idiot."
Luo Fan sat back down, his eyes falling upon Ji Qianfan, who still trembled in place. He had made sure the shockwave reached her too—after all, there were still those in this sect who doubted his power. And that... was irritating.
He reached out and gently took her hand.
*Warm.*
His touch was softer than a woman's. Silken and refined, it made even Ji Qianfan's delicate hands feel rough by comparison.
"Young Lord Luo..." she whispered, cheeks flushing. Her voice was so soft it barely rose above a breath.